


Someday (reboot)

by kierathefangirl



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, 2p!talia, 2ptalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, F/M, Female Character of Color, Fluff, Gen, Hayden is an asshole, High School AU, M/M, OCs - Freeform, everyone is sweet, except Hayden, they're teenagers, transgender male characters, very dark backstory, we're all over the place really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-13 22:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14121771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kierathefangirl/pseuds/kierathefangirl
Summary: Hayden, the school's worst bully, is back. Lutz is angry, Luciano is scared, Flavio is depressed and angry, Andrés is angry, Gilen is anxious AF, and Matt even gets dragged into the mess.





	1. Fucking Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bblueraven14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bblueraven14/gifts).



> Trigger warnings (spoilers): there's cursing, and lots of it (because this is the 2Ps). Also, lots of depression, lack of self-worth, suicide mentions, darkness, rape, and abuse. If this is too intense for you you can read something else. I actually don't expect anyone to read this & like it.
> 
> So I went back and read my other piece I wrote, using the music video for Someday by Nickelback. This one is written without the video, just the song. A few other songs too; a playlist. :)
> 
> First person point of view. Perspectives identified at beginning of chapters.
> 
> Also. Please. Let me know which lines you really like. This is one of the few works I published on a whim, spur-of-the-moment move and sort of regretted afterwards because I'm a really, really self-conscious writer. I have thousands of works I could publish...I just need to know what people actually like about this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lutz finds out what's wrong with Luciano today.

**_~Luciano~_ **

Lutz manages to sneak up on me again, receiving another startled knife to the neck. He lifts his hands in surrender and doesn’t move. “Relax,” he says. “It’s just me.”

The knife falls back to its sheath. Lutz sighs. “Fucking hell, Lucca. One of these times you’ll kill me, I swear. Chill.”

I breathe and look away. “You can never be too careful, Lutz. I’ve told you this.”

Lutz rolls his eyes. “Sticking a knife to my neck isn’t ‘ _being careful_ ’, it’s being fucking overreactive. You can’t honestly tell me a _knife_ is _precautionary_.”

“It is,” I say quietly. I still don’t look at him; I haven’t all day. It’s just before sixth.

Finally Lutz starts to notice. “Why aren’t you looking up? You normally glare at me.”

 _Damn._ I shake my head. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, arschloch.”

Lutz blinks a few times. “Take it easy, buster. Talk to me.”

“I am talking to you, am I not?”

“You know what I mean, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, ‘ _sweetheart_ ’?”

“Yes, _that_. Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? Somewhere under that tough persona is a sweet child who just needs a chance. Your heart is sweet, while your hand isn’t.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

Lutz takes the word as leverage. “I’ll cut you a deal. I’ll stop calling you sweetheart for a day if you tell me what’s going on.”

I growl. Lutz doesn’t even flinch.

I sigh exasperatedly. “Fine. If you promise not to freak out and not to ask too many questions.”

“Deal.”

I look up. Lutz inhales sharply and moves forward, wiping the blood from my bottom lip. “Jesus, Lucca. What happened?”

I wince and back up a step, which backs me straight into the wall of lockers. Lutz takes his pointer finger and tips my chin up, drawing the blood and bruises into the light alongside the few stray tears that have managed to escape my eyes. He gives me a blank look and wipes the blood and tears from my face. “Lucca. Christ, man. What happened to you?”

“I can’t tell you,” I answer stiffly. “It’s not worth my brother’s life.”

His eyes widen. “What if…we got them in jail?”

“He’s broken out before. Three times. Cells can’t hold him.”

“Insane asylum, maybe?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Would you talk if we put him away?”

“Maybe.”

“Give me a name. Just a name.”

I look away and lower my voice. “Hayden Fisher.”

He pulls me from the lockers to briefly hug me. I stiffen and curl a little in on myself. “I didn’t say you could touch me.”

“I don’t care,” he answers. “I won’t hurt you. Trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“For once in your goddamn life,” Lutz says, tightening his grip, “please stop fighting me.”

My body is weak from the beating, my mind exhausted because he stole me from the house at night. I give in. I let him lift most of my weight off my feet. I let my arms wrap around him and keep me upright. “I didn’t sleep—haven’t in days—or I’d fight you more. Just don’t tell my brothers. Please.”

“They’ll find out, you know,” Lutz aptly points out. “They’re not idiots.”

I shut my eyes. “I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because it’d be worse for them if it came from you.”

“Are you saying _you’ll_ tell them?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I promise.” After a moment’s silence, Lutz adds quietly, “You better actually tell them.”

“Tell us what?” Flavio’s voice leaps me into the air.

Lutz lets go of me and turns around. “Flavio,” he greets him.

I drop my eyes again. _Shit. I was hoping I could avoid it. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to actually tell. I was hoping—but hope is futile. I should’ve known. I’m such an idiot._

“Lutz,” Flavio acknowledges. His eyes are clouded with suspicion. “What’re you talking about?”

“Him,” Lutz shrugs, gesturing to me.

“And?”

“I can’t tell you. Look.”

He pulls me forward a step and tips my head up. Flavio’s eyes widen and the suspicion turns to angry fire and icy fear. His blonde hair bounces as he shakes his head back and forth a few times to clear his eyes, just in case he’s not seeing straight. “What the _hell_ happened to you?”

_I’m overwhelmed. I can’t deal with this. I can’t. I can’t._

I start to cry.

Lutz sighs and looks away. “His face was covered in blood and tears. I already wiped most of it off. He says he can’t tell what it was because apparently whoever hurt him would kill someone if he did.”

“Who? He’d kill who?”

Lutz lets go of me. Flavio pulls me in, wraps me up in his arms, and lowers his voice. “Who’d he threaten, fratellino? Who’d he threaten?”

My arms cocoon around my fragile older brother, and I bury my eyes in the crook of his shoulder. I don’t say exactly who, just one thing I know he’ll put the pieces together with: “I love you, fratello.”

I swear it looks like he just took a brick wall to the face. His mouth drops open, and for the first time in years he starts to cry. “Oh. Oh. Oh my god.”

Lutz is smart enough to figure it out when he sees me actually, _willingly_ hug someone. “He threatened your brothers, didn’t he?”

I nod a couple times. Flavio kisses my cheek and digs his fingers into my back. “I love you, too.”

“His name is Hayden Fisher,” Lutz tells Flavio quietly. “He says he might talk if we get jackass in an insane asylum or somewhere secure; he’s broken out of jail three times.”

Flavio’s eyes darken. “Then that’s exactly what we’ll do. I can tell Andrés.”

“You do that,” Lutz agrees. “I just want him to be okay again.”

I cough this weird laugh. It sounds like a laugh, sort of. But it also sounds somewhat like I’m being strangled. I almost am; my heart is clenched between Hayden’s clammy palms, and he’s crushing all the love and hatred and will to live from the shattered mess he keeps stepping on the pieces of.

Flavio lets go and steps back. Tears cover his soft cheeks now, highlighting how pale and baby-faced he is. His eyes are full of an odd mixture composed of love, hatred, and pain—like a rose with its thorns. His eyes are normally that soft amber, gleaming with joy and all of Heaven’s light. Knowing the lengths I’ve actually gone to to protect him and Sebastiano will only dull that beautiful light, and it hurts to hurt him like this.

Flavio looks me over several times. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I answer honestly, dropping my eyes to his shoes.

Flavio sighs. “Lucca, you don’t have—you shouldn’t have to—sweetheart, please…”

He stops trying. He looks away, and when he looks back the words he wants to say are scripted perfectly in his eyes, etched beautifully in his cracked heart: _You shouldn’t have to go through that for me._

“You’re worth it,” I tell him stubbornly.

His eyes soften, and the love shines brighter than the pain and other emotions now. “You don’t deserve all this,” he says, gesturing vaguely to my various injuries. “ _I_ don’t deserve that.”

“If I don’t put up with it,” I tell him stiffly, “he’d do the same to you. I won’t let that happen. I can’t. I won’t.”

Flavio blinks a few times. “L—”

“Don’t, Flavee,” I stop him. “You won’t convince me you aren’t worth it, because you are. You’ve got that light in your eyes, Heaven’s light. Seb lost it years ago, and I lost it too. You still have it. I won’t let him ruin you, too. I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?”

“Hellfire.”

His eyes widen a little. I shrug. “You’re the purest of the three of us. You don’t seem to believe it most of the time, but it’s true. I’m trying to keep them away from you, to keep you safe. I’m trying to protect you. And you sure as hell aren’t making it easy.”

Flavio starts to cry again. I use my sleeve to dry the tears from his cheeks, and I wrap him up in gentle arms. “Just promise me this: don’t go after him alone. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

“I promise,” he mutters, kissing my cheek with tear-moistened lips. “I love you, too, Lucca.”

“Yeah, I know. Ti amo, Flavio.”

“Ti amo, Luciano.”


	2. Insane Asylum Or Somewhere Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flavio seeks out Andrés.

**_~Flavio~_ **

I finally find Andrés. He tries so hard to pretend he doesn’t care about anyone, but I know he does. I know he does. I know he cares about me. Someone told me recently he’d been chasing off bullies behind my back. He may not say it to my face, but seeing me crying will be enough for him to talk to his dad. I already know before I reach him that I’ll be able to save Lucca.

“Andrés?”

He turns around. The moment his eyes find mine and find the falling tears, all previous tensions held around me explode. He breaks all personal space rules, all the tension and snappishness he displays. He lifts me off my feet and into his arms, and he clutches me to him. “Who hurt you?”

I wrap my arms around him, bury my face in his shoulder, and breathe. I wait until it doesn’t hurt to breathe anymore to pull back. Andrés recognizes it and sets me down, pulling away to search my eyes for something.

I blink a few times and take my sleeve to dry my face. “Um, did you say your dad’s a cop?”

He nods. “Yeah, why?”

I glance nervously up the hall. He draws me back with one hand. “Flavio.”

I drop my eyes. “Lucca’s black and blue today.”

His eyes widen a little. I’ve told him how much my brothers mean to me.

I cough. “Apparently his name is Hayden Fisher. I don’t know why, or exactly what he does. I know he’s broken out of jail three times and my brother’s scared shitless of him, and I know he told Lucca he’d kill me if he tried to tell. His face was covered in blood and bruised to all hell, and he looks exhausted. Lutz had to force him to look up because he was trying to pretend he was fine.”

He grumbles under his breath. “Hayden?”

I nod. He coughs. “Hayden doesn’t like Lutz, either. He bullied him a couple years ago, and Gilen beat the shit out of him for it. It wasn’t the greatest solution, and he walked free.”

“And now he’s back,” I point out. “And Lucca  _ is _ his friend, so he’s taking it a little personally.”

“It may well be personal,” he agrees. “Or it could be that he’s gay and trans. Or a bit of both.”

“Maybe a bit of both,” I acknowledge. “Either way…”

“Either way it’s a problem,” he finishes.

I shrug. “You could say that. He was crying.”

“He never cries.”

“I know.”

Andrés nods decisively. “I’ll tell Dad. We’ll find a way. Maybe I should tell Gilen, too. I don’t know. This  _ is _ a roundabout attack on his brother.”

The overhead bell rings, telling us we should be in class. I jump and start crying again. Andrés leads me to class with a gentle hand on my back, hugs me, and tells me it’s going to be okay. I manage to slip in unnoticed—we have a sub, and by the time she calls my name I’m sitting down and can answer “here, it’s pronounced Flavio” to her call—and sit down in the back. But I still don’t feel good. Lucca let this guy do god-knows-what to him, beat him up, harass him, because he was protecting  _ me _ ? I’m not worth that. I never have been. He sees so much more in me than I deserve.


	3. "I Need Your Help"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrés seeks out Gilen.

**_~Gilen~_ **

Andrés actually shows up to class today. He almost always skips, though the teacher can’t really complain because he always manages to turn all his work in on time. But today he’s here, and he flops down next to me. He does his work, and once we’re both done he asks he teacher if he can please—he actually says  _ please _ , which I’ve never heard him do—talk to me about something personal in the hallway. He tells her we’re both done. She sighs and agrees. “Just don’t run off,” she says warningly.

Andrés waves me after him. I wasn’t warned about this, but it must be important if he actually took the time to come to class. I get up and follow him from the room.

Andrés closes the door, sighs, glasses around to check the hall is empty, and looks to me. “He’s back.”

“What? Who’s back?”

“Hayden Fisher.”

The name falls like lead in my stomach. “ _ What? _ ”

Andrés shuts his eyes. “You know Lutz’s friend Luciano?”

“Yeah. He never shuts up about him. Why?”

My normal  _ out-in-public, at-school _ level of anxiety rises. Andrés doesn’t seem to notice.

Andrés clears his throat. “He came to school covered in blood and bruises today, crying. Lutz found out. He's really upset, obviously, so he asked what happened. Luciano said he told him he'd kill Flavio if he told, and that maybe he'd talk if he couldn’t get near him. So he asked for a name. Guess who’s back? Hayden fucking Fisher. And not only did he reduce Flavio and Luciano to tears, Lutz is furious. He might go after him and get hurt again.”

“You didn’t care the first time,” I shoot at him. “Why’s it matter now?”

He flinches. “I  _ did _ care. I told Dad what I knew. But it wasn’t enough for him to do anything. Look, I’m gonna tell Dad about this. But I don’t know everything about what happened to your brother.”

I blink a few times. He sighs and looks away. “I hate saying this, but I need help. You’re my best friend, and you know more than I do. I need your help.”

My eyes widen. “Are you trying to guilt-trip me?”

He shakes his head. I bite my lip. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll help you.”

He breathes and looks back. “Thank you.”

“You’re abnormally emotional,” I point out.

“I tried not to get attached,” he mutters. “But so God help me, I’ve started to care for the bastard.”

“Flavio?”

He nods. “I found out a couple weeks ago that there are these bullies, about ten of them, that spend time testing him he’s worthless and stupid and that nobody loves him. He’s started to believe them, and that scares me. I shouldn’t care, but it pisses me off. And they tried to convince me not to be friends with him in exchange for popularity. It’s not an equal trade-off; his life and sanity for their pleasure and amusement. I told them to fuck off, and when one of them had the  _ audacity _ to tell me he’s worthless and I shouldn’t care I knocked the bastard flat on his ass and walked away. They haven’t talked to me since, but they keep harassing him behind my back.”

Andrés coughs. “He was crying today, and he said he doesn’t deserve Luciano’s love and protection. He said he isn’t worth it. He’s starting to genuinely believe them. I want to prove to him all the reasons he  _ is _ worth it.”

“That’s sweet,” I say quietly, but I have to point it out: “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

He blinks a few times. “I honestly don’t know what that feels like.”

“It sounds like you are.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

I sigh. “How exactly do you want to do this?”

“We’re gonna have to talk to my dad,” he says. “Together. I don’t normally talk to him at work so he’ll be surprised, but we have to. Meet me in the student parking lot after school.”

“Okay,” I agree. He doesn’t know how much my anxiety spikes at the thought of talking to a new person about this. He doesn’t even know I  _ have _ anxiety. I didn’t want to be a burden so I didn’t tell them.

He hikes the pack on his back. I eye it. “You aren’t going back in the classroom, are you?”

He shakes his head. “I have to find Flavio.”

“You do that. I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks, man.” He pats me awkwardly on the back. He rarely touches people. “I knew I could count on you.”

He rushes off. I sigh and slide back into the room.

“He isn’t coming back, is he?” she asks when I return alone.

“He’s going to the restroom,” I tell her. “Maybe, maybe not. Knowing him, most likely the latter.”

She sighs. I sit back down.  _ I hate Hayden. _


	4. He's Talking To Me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curiosity killed the cat, and satisfaction brought it back. Matt's curiosity drives him to talk to Gilen, and the confrontation turns into much more than either of them planned when Gilen has a panic attack.

**_~Gilen~_ **

The tough Canadian who always sits by himself, the one who never talks to anyone, moves to sit next to me. “What did he want?”

The classroom explodes with noise. I blink, and my head snaps over to look. He simply looks curious, maybe a little nervous. But he never talks to anyone.

I give him a blank look. He rolls his eyes and gestures towards the door. “Jackass who never shows up. What did he want?”

“He’s my friend,” I tell him uncertainly. “Andrés.”

“So?” he dismisses. “He took you from the room. What did he want?”

“I don’t have to tell you,” I answer stiffly, mostly just to see what he’ll do.

He actually looks at me now, and he looks a little angry. He shoves me a little. “Answer the goddamn question.”

Okay, so he’s desperate. I can use that.

I get to my feet. If he actually follows me, he’s interested enough for me to answer. We have thirty minutes left of class.

I slide from the room. He gets up and follows me out the door, and he closes it gently behind him. I lead him into an unoccupied part of the school and turn back around.

He stops about a foot from me and crosses his arms. “What’d’he want?”

I shut my eyes and breathe. Now I’m not only alone with my crush, but he’s asking about Hayden. My anxiety skyrockets, but I refuse to let it stop me from answering him. Maybe if I talk to him now, he’ll talk to me more later.

I open my eyes. He’s bouncing anxiously on his toes, the only sign he isn’t as tough as he looks.

I flash a shy smile, breathe, and take a step forward. “Do you know Lutz?”

“The blonde?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve seen him around,” he acknowledges. “Why?”

“Because it was about him. He’s my little brother.”

He blinks. I breathe. “Have you met Hayden Fisher?”

“Yes. He’s a jackass.”

“He is,” I agree easily. I clear my throat. “He bullied Lutz a lot a few months ago. That’s why he vanished in October, and why he came back injured. He was in the hospital unconscious for two weeks, and he was crippled for two months before he started to actually get better.”

His eyes soften, and he doesn’t look angry anymore. I breathe. “But he’s back.”

The barest hint of humanity, of concern touches his violet eyes. I cough. “He’s started harassing Lutz’s best friend Luciano. He came to school bruised and bloody today, and not because he’s weak. His brother Flavio was crying, and he’s Andrés’ friend. He wants to tell his dad about Hayden—but he doesn’t know exactly what happened to Lutz, so he needs my help telling him. That’s the most emotional I’ve ever seen him.”

I clear my throat again. “If he loses Luciano, I lose him. He’s just started to get better. So Andrés knew I’d be in.”

His tension eases, but my anxiety hikes drastically. Now I don’t know what to talk about. I can’t just talk about the weather after talking about attempted murder, now can I?

Perception of my anxiety wells up somewhere in him, and he holds out a hand. “I’m Matt.”

“Uh, Gilen.”

I let him shake my hand. He has the perfect handshake: not so hard it hurts, not so soft he seems anxious, and not so short or so long it’s awkward.

Matt cross his arms again, but this is looser and less defensive. “He rarely shows up.”

“I know. He does his work whether or not he’s in class.”

Now even Matt seems stumped for topics. “Um,” he says, and he blushes and gets tense and flighty.

“You don’t usually talk to people,” I point out softly.

He blushes a dark scarlet. “Most people are self-centered assholes. I don’t see the point.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He relaxes again with this soft surprised look brightening his eyes. “Wait, seriously? Most people tell me I’m an asshole.”

I blink and shrug at him. “You’re not. I’ve dealt with much worse. Most people tell me I’m weak and I get anxious over stupid things. Plus a lot of people seem to think my brother’s a dick and he’s not.”

He almost smiles; I catch the beginnings of a smirk twitching at his lips. “Not from what I’ve seen he’s not. He seems nice. I’m just not the type to approach people.”

“Curiosity killed the cat?” I suggest as his reason for talking to me.

He laughs. “And satisfaction brought it back. The best part of a mystery is solving it.”

I manage a weak smile. He smiles in return.  See, this isn’t so hard. Why can’t I do this all the time? Why am I such an anxious coward?

“My little brother Allen has Social Anxiety Disorder,” he says. “I’m used to anxious people. I kinda prefer them, actually. Anxious and depressed people are often some of the best: the kindest, most thoughtful, most intellectual, most perceptive, most  _ interesting _ people tend to also be the most anxious.”

“Allen’s your brother?”

“And François. We’re all adopted from…erm,  _ bad _ households. Allen’s the only American. I’m Canadian and François is French.”

“You’re François’ little brother?”

He nods. I grin. “Him and Andrés are my best friends. I know him.”

He blinks in surprise, then smiles. “Hm. I don’t usually get along with my brother’s friends. He tends to bring home pervs and occasionally pedophiles.”

“That’s harsh.”

He laughs. “It’s true, believe me.”

“Has he ever bought Andrés over?”

“No.”

“I haven’t been over either. He might be doing that on purpose.”

“It’s possible,” he agrees. “Just to annoy us or something. Sounds like something he’d do.”

I step back, up against the wall of yellow lockers behind me. Matt moves forward, and gentle hands cuff my upper arms. He seems to feel the onset of panic before it fully hits me:  _ Andrés’ dad is a cop. If I fuck up in front of him—if I make a bad impression—if—if—if— _

My breath creeps up my lungs and turns into panicked huffs, my hands transform into earthquakes, my heart leaps up to beat just below my Adam’s apple, my eyes blur the colors together into a cohesive, blinding light full of blobs composed by random hues I can’t identify. I can’t think, I can’t breathe, I can’t—

A voice. I can hear a voice. It’s sweet as fresh honey on a hot summer day, soothing as cool water on a hot burn, and it crawls into my ears and begs me to calm. I don’t know what the words are or if any exist, but I can hear the voice.

“Breathe, Gil,” the voice calls into my echoey skull. “Breathe.”

_I can’t,_ I want to scream at the voice.  _ I can’t breathe. The devil has my lungs choked in a fiery, hellish wrestling match, the demons crawl down my throat and twist my stomach in useless knots, the whip-masters beat the will to live from my soul. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. _

I’m dragged kicking and screaming back to reality by a kiss. It’s kinda cheesy, honestly, but it’s true. Gentle lips press to mine, wake me up, pull me down to Earth. My vision clears, my heart stops a second and slows down considerably, my breath catches on a lump in my throat, and my hands move from trembling at my sides to cocoon the source of warmth and draw it in.

Now that I can see, I register the source as Matt. It’s not something I’d expect, but I’ll roll with it. It’s an excuse both to kiss my crush and to not talk.

Both of his arms wrap around me in response, pulling me against him. His lips grow less hesitant on mine, and the tips of his fingers curl into my jacket. He’s pretty enthusiastic considering how little he knows about me.

Eventually he lets go. I blink a few times, shake my head, and I’m able to breathe again.

He flashes a relieved smile. I clear my throat. “Uh…”

“When you’re hyperventilating,” he leaps to explain with twitchy fingers, “the easiest way to stop is hold your breath. You held your breath.”

A smile shatters the mask of shock on my face, and I manage a weak laugh. “You don’t have to explain. Or apologize. I don’t mind.”

His shoulders creep towards his ears and he really starts to bounce now. I reach out, catch him in uncertain hands, and pull him back in. He barely looks back in time for our lips to connect—but all it takes is a second, and he melts. His lips respond to mine gently but fondly, his arms wrap around me, and his shoulders fall. His body relaxes.

I let go only when he’s calm again. He’s blushing now, lightly-tanned cheeks quickly turning scarlet. I shrug at him and decide to jump off the deep end and make it worse. “Hey, it’s not every day a handsome guy kisses ya.”

He goes plum purple and starts to cough, and his shoulders shake with laughter. “I-I’m n-not—”

I grin. “Yeah, you are. People stare at you. You’re just a bit unapproachable.”

He gets tense again, but this is for a good reason: he’s flustered.

Finally he manages to calm down. His cheeks are still a dusty pink, and he glares at me. “You’re an ass.”

“Sure I am, sweetheart. A good one, too.”

It’s a bold move, I’ll grant you. But it does the trick, and he laughs for awhile.

Matt rolls his eyes. “You know what I meant.”

I grin at him, reaching out to ruffle his hair. The tension’s been shattered now that he’s kissed me, and I feel like I can actually openly flirt with him. He got so embarrassed over it I might as well. “Sure, sweetheart. I’m such an asshole you’re blushing.”

“What?” He actually looks surprised, and the dusty pink turns back to scarlet. “No I’m not.”

“Look in the mirror, sweetheart. You are.”

He glances over at his reflection. Sure enough, the red tinge is still there, and it gets darker when he realizes I’m right. “Oh,” he says in this tiny, adorable voice.

I reach out and take his hand gently in mine, which draws his eyes back. “You’re pretty unapproachable, but you’re adorable.”

His fingers curl around mine, and something changes behind his eyes. “You really think so?”

I nod. He actually smiles, and it reaches his eyes so strongly they start to glow in the fluorescent overhead lights. “Oh.”

He takes a small step towards me. “You…actually don’t mind?”

“God, no. That doesn’t bother me at all. I’m bi and my little brother’s gay. I’m open to anything, sweetheart.”

He blinks once, then he smiles softly again. Then he asks in this stumbling, quiet, breathy voice, “D-dinner and a movie tonight at seven?”

I grin. “I’d love to.”

He literally spins in a circle like an excited child. We walk back to class and grab our stuff in time for the bell to ring. I can barely keep a cool head; not  _ only _ did my crush talk to me, but he asked me out!


	5. The Police Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilen and Andrés go to the station to talk to Andrés' dad.

**_~Gilen~_ **

Andrés flashes a charming smile at the lady behind the desk. “Hola, Señora Ali. Is Dad in?”

The lady smiles. “He’s in his office, Andrés. Some paperwork for a recent arrest.”

 _He’ll need to do a lot more after this,_ I shut my eyes a moment.

“Who’s this?” she asks.

He laughs. “My friend Gilen. Gil, this is Miss Ali. She’s the secretary.”

I lift my hand briefly in greeting. “Hallo, Frau Ali.”

“Ooh, another foreigner,” she gushes. She flashes a mouthful of pearly white teeth that gleam against her dark skin. “Welcome home, son.”

I grant her a return smile. “Danke.”

Andrés shoots me a glance, shrugs, and leads the way into the back. He lowers his voice. “I’ve never heard you speak German before.”

“That’s what I do when I’m nervous,” I shrug. I don’t want to be a burden, so I won’t call it anxiety. “Also you have. A few times.”

He glances at me. “Nervous? You? You don’t seem the type.”

“Why does everyone say that?” I sigh exasperatedly.

Andrés laughs. He doesn’t see the nerves bouncing my toes, tapping my fingers, darting my eyes from door to door. I’ve never gotten in legal trouble, but what if I mess up? What if I get in trouble?

We stop at a door. Andrés shrugs. “I don’t know, you seem really confident all the time.”

It slips without me trying to say it, just because he says I seem confident: “I have three different severe anxiety disorders. I have _no_ idea where you get the idea of confidence from.”

Now he actually looks surprised. He turns from the door. “Seriously?”

I flinch. I wasn’t trying to, it wasn’t intentional, but now he knows. I can’t take it back. I won’t downright lie now that it’s come up.

Andrés’ eyebrows shoot up. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

I look away. “Everyone thinks I’m broken and stupid. They never believe me either. A lot of them say it must be a burden to hang around me because of it. I’ve gotten used to being anxious around people and in certain situations.”

Andrés’ eyes darken. “That’s bullshit. I actually think that makes you a lot bolder. There’s a lot of things you’ve done I would never expect from you had I known.”

“That, too.” Andrés gives me a blank look, so I sigh and explain, “People expect me to be incapable of doing certain things because of it. But my parents told me even if it’s scary to do it, because you’ll never grow if you use it as an excuse and let it hold you back.”

“You’ve got some wise-ass parents,” Andrés says in a praising tone, then he shakes his head a little. “You sure you’re cool with this?”

He gestures to the door. I shrug. “I’ll probably stumble a few times, but it’s better to tell now than to worry later. I’d rather tell someone I hardly know than find him in some alleyway again.”

He breathes, nods, and pushes open the door. We slide inside. “Dad,” he says, “we need to talk. It’s work-related.”


	6. Andrés’ Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrés’ dad notices Gilen's anxiety and pulls him aside to talk (alone).

**_~Gilen~_ **

His dad listens intently to everything we tell him, writes everything down, doesn’t comment on any point I stumble or stutter, then gets to his feet. “He’ll be in a cell within ten minutes with this,” he says. “And for more than just twenty-four hours.”

Andrés nods and goes to leave. His dad clears his throat. “And son?”

Andrés turns back. He raises an eyebrow. “Remember to breathe, Andrés. You like like you’re about to pass out.”

Andrés flashes a shy smile, then slides out the door. I go to follow, but his dad catches my wrist and shuts the door. “Hang on a second.”

I turn back. The anxiety he’d put to rest with his lack of complaint skyrockets again and slams my heart painfully into my ribcage.

He smiles softly and steps closer to me. “You should breathe, too. You look like you’re about to throw up.”

I drop my eyes. “He’s my little brother, so yeah.”

“It’s more than that,” he says.

I look up. The man has this gentle fatherly smile and a comforting light warming his eyes. “I took four years of psychology in school,” he tells me. “It’s more than just that.”

For some reason, that’s comforting to know. I relax a little, and I’m able to say it. “I have three severe anxiety disorders, and if this is left unchecked I could lose my brother and maybe also Andrés. I’m not, like, nauseous or whatever—I’m just anxious.”

He draws me in with strong but very gentle arms, and he pats me lightly on the back. “It’s not going to go unchecked. I’m sure the entire facility will be riled up by this.”

I automatically hug him back. He’s got that father’s hug, the hug that makes you feel okay when the whole world is crashing down in flames around you. My parents haven’t given me this kind of hug since I was seven and we left Germany behind, not since I was crying on the plane and really needed help.

He seems to recognize this, and he tightens his grip. Then he kisses my cheek and lets go. “How long has it been since you’ve been hugged?”

“It’s not that,” I say quietly. “I get hugs reasonably often. But the last time I was hugged  _ like that _ was when I was seven and leaving home.”

“Germany?” he suggests.

I nod. He sighs. “All hugs are supposed to be like that,” he tells me exasperatedly.

I shrug. “According to everyone—including my parents but not my brother—I’m broken. They don’t see a point, because people can’t be fixed. I’m just unfixable.”

He grumbles. “People don’t  _ need _ to be fixed. You’re not broken. You’re just different.”

I manage a weak smile. “Might as well be. You hear ‘ _ you’re broken _ ’ or ‘ _ you’re weird _ ’ enough times, you start to become it.”

“That’s bullshit,” he says stiffly. “You are who you make yourself to be.”

I smile at him. He lets go of my arm and opens the door. “Go on, kiddo.”

I slide from the room. Andrés looks a little nervous. “What’d’he want?”

I shrug. “He noticed the anxiety, apparently. I told him I’m fine.”

He looks slightly relieved. He leads the way from the building. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“’Kay.”


	7. Gilen's Not Sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrés being protective of Gilen and talking to Flavio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning (spoilers): the second-to-last paragraph describes what Gilen told about Lutz and Hayden...which involves rape, group rape, and physical abuse. If you don't want to read, skip to the paragraph after, which is Flavio's reaction.

**_~Andrés~_ **

Gilen slipped a lot today. He hasn’t slept in weeks, I hear, because some shit’s going down at his place. I offered François’ place maybe, but he said no. My place is hellish too right now due to our unexpected drop-in. So I offer, rather tentatively, that I might be able to convince Flavio to let him stay with them. Gilen agreed that if he’s cool with it, that could work. It’s Friday, so the day doesn’t matter. We don’t have school tomorrow.

I’m now seeking out Flavio. I realized after offering that I don’t have his number or any way to contact him. I guess I should get that.

I run into him accidentally. He’s out pacing town, and he almost brushes past me. I catch his arm. “Flavio.”

He stops and looks up, blinking at me. “Oh. Uh, hi.”

I force a quick smile. Flavio relaxes, and he smiles in return. “Uh, what—what are you doing here? You’re not usually…”

“I talked to Dad.”

“Oh.”

I clear my throat. “Uh…so, Gilen hasn’t slept in a week and he has three severe anxiety disorders. But for some reason he seems to trust you.”

Flavio gives me a blank look. “Really?”

“Would it be cool if he crashed at your place tonight?”

His eyes widen. “Uh…”

“You don’t have to,” I assure him. “But all hell’s broken loose at his house, he called himself ‘ _ broken _ ’, and my house is in too much disarray for him to stay with me tonight.”

He blinks a few times, frowns thoughtfully, then suggests tentatively, “Well…could he have Lutz stay over? Lucca kinda needs the help. If he can, whatever. I don’t really care.”

“I’ll ask.”

I pull out my phone. “ _ Could you convince Lutz to stay with them tonight too for Luciano’s sake? If you can he’s cool with it. _ ”

“ _ Easy. _ ” he answers. “ _ He hasn’t been sleeping great either and Luciano is (self-admittedly) his best friend. _ ”

“He says he can,” I tell him. “Lutz hasn’t been sleeping great anyway.”

He shrugs and gives me the address. I text it to Gilen, and also add it to my contacts. Then I clear my throat and look up. “You…have a cell phone?”

“Yeah.”

I hold out my phone hesitantly. Flavio looks surprised, but he accepts the phone. He knows what I’m asking, and he enters his cell and also his email into my phone and hands it back. I sneak a quick picture of him to use for the contact photo, then hit  _ save _ . He looks anxious and upset, but it’ll do for now—it’ll do until I have the confidence to actually ask to take a picture of him.

Flavio pulls his phone from his pocket and shakily unlocks it, opens  _ Contacts _ , and holds it out in offering. I take it, enter my number, email, and address, and hand it back. He taps the screen a couple times, then his phone falls and slides smoothly into his pocket.

“You okay?” I ask him. “You look a bit out of it.”

He coughs. “I’m fine.”

“Sure?”

He shrugs. I shift a bit. “Gil told my dad what Hayden did to Lutz. You wanna know? It makes it a lot worse.”

“Yes,” he says automatically.

I swallow and look away. “For the first bit, he called him a bunch of gay slurs. Little things. Then he started beating him up, even to the point of hospitalizing him a few times—that’s why he disappeared in October. Then he started raping him and getting girls in on it. Then he started alternating every other day between hospital and, y’know…the other thing. Then Gilen kicked his ass because he found out, and he left him alone after that. I’m not sure what stage Luciano’s reached yet.”

Flavio is abnormally still, abnormally quiet. For a moment he doesn’t move, then he starts to cry. I don’t know how to react to tears since I usually don’t care about the person behind the emotion, so now I don’t know how to help him. Hugging seemed to help when he cried earlier, so it’s the best I can do to draw the gentle blonde in and hold him close in the hopes it’ll help him again.


	8. What Hayden Does...And A Kiss Or Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flavio reacts to what Hayden does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning (spoilers): If you don't like reading smut/described sex, do not read the long paragraph after Flavio kisses Andrés. From this paragraph: "Andrés blushes and smiles. It’s a soft smile, and he so rarely smiles it’s a grand accomplishment." to this paragraph: "I get a full semblance of time when his dad knocks on the door. 'Dinner, Andrés!'", they're kissing and you find out Flavio's a virgin. He doesn't think Andres is. By the end of the chapter, Flavio's no longer a virgin. If you skip from the smile to dinner section, you can skip that if you want.

**_~Flavio~_ **

Knowing what he does only makes it worse. I’m not worth that, I swear I’m not. But Lucca believes I am so strongly he actually let it happen for my sake.

I can’t stop crying for the life of me. Andrés, bless his soul, is trying desperately to calm me down. He tries hugging me and cuddling me and a light sort-of-massage and everything he can possibly think of. He’s clearly never dealt with this situation, but the very fact that he stays and tries to help rather than running away the moment emotion comes to play…he really  _ does _ care.

Andrés has moved us into a neighborhood I’m not familiar with and sat me down on the porch swing of a particular house I’ve been been to before. He rocks us back and forth for awhile, still cuddling me. The apathetic asshole people take him to be would’ve given up long before now.

A tall man in police garb approaches the door with a key and greets Andrés as “son” when he spots him. So this must be Andrés’ house—a place he said none of his friends had been before. I’m honored, humbled, but still so distracted I can’t fully process the meaning of this.

“Friend?” the cop asks.

“Flavio Vargas,” Andrés answers with a flash of a smile.

“Friend, then,” the cop nods.

Andrés shrugs, then asks, “How do you calm someone down when their little brother has been letting the shit get beaten out of him for their sake?”

His dad blinks a few times. “You don’t. You wait them out. You breathe. Be patient. They’ll be okay.”

He nods. His father heads inside.

Andrés returns his attention to me. That exchange confirmed one thing I suspected: Andrés has never dealt with this before. And another: he cares enough to ask for help.

“Flavio?” he asks.

I don’t answer. He sighs and softens his voice, and he even adopts my little brother’s nickname: “Flavee?”

I curl in a little in myself, draw in my shoulders, look up. He looks a tad bit relieved I even responded at all. I just make a vague sound of interest.

Andrés flashes a faint smile. “Are you okay? I’ve never seen you…”

He drifts off. I shrug. “You imagine hearing this about _ your _ brother.”

“I never said I had any brothers,” he mutters.

“I didn’t say you did. Just put yourself in my place. He let Hayden do God-knows-what to him because he was protecting me.”

He’s quiet a moment. “I suppose you have a point. I just…”

“Shut off all emotions, yeah, I’ve heard.” He flinches. I roll my eyes. “I  _ wish _ it was that easy. If I could just turn my emotions on and off at will. But I can’t. I’m broken.”

He shakes his head. “The mark of a truly broken, completely shattered person is someone who  _ can _ turn their emotions on and off. You can’t literally shut them off, but if you’re broken enough times you can learn how to ignore them or pretend they’re not there.  You are one of the most whole people I know. It’s not easier—it’s worse. You watch the people you care about most drift away because they think you don’t care, you watch people drift from you and call you a sociopath or a psychopath or an emotionless robot. It _ isn’t _ easier in any way; it’s harder.”

“Are you calling yourself broken?”

Andrés shrugs. “Maybe. But that’s besides the point.”

I scoot up into his lap and wrap both arms around him. “If you were truly, completely broken, you wouldn’t care enough about me to do anything when I’m upset,” I point out. “You’d just walk away.”

“Broken doesn’t necessarily mean apathetic,” Andrés disagrees. “If I was completely apathetic like people think I am, then yes I would’ve walked away. But so God help me—despite all efforts to the contrary—I care about you. I’m not just gonna walk away while you’re crying.”

“You can’t _ try _ not to care,” I tell him. “You either care or you don’t.”

Andrés sighs. “Yes, you can. You can distance yourself, you can spend as little time around them as possible, you can try to push them away. But sometimes you lose anyway. I lost—you win.”

I reach up and kiss his cheek, right on the corner of his relaxed mouth. It’s a test, and I win; he blushes a faint dusty pink, and his arms settle gently around me.  _ So he likes me too. _

I yawn and close my eyes. I’m starting to calm simply because the subject is off of Hayden.

“Have you been sleeping?” Andrés asks.

I blink and look up. “Uh, yeah. Not very well, though. I think I know why now. A nap would be nice but it requires moving. I’m lazy.”

Andrés glances towards the house. “We could maybe…”

He grows uneasy. His breath picks up speed, betraying his anxiety.

I do the first thing that comes to mind. It’s not to hug him or to hush him or to offer words of comfort—no, my answer is to kiss him.

For a moment he’s still. He even holds his breath. But after that moment passes, his lips open warmly and invitingly against mine and he tightens his grip on me. He doesn’t act like he expected it, but he doesn’t reject me either.

I pull back to breathe. Andrés gives me a blank look. “What was that for?”

“You started to hyperventilate,” I tell him. “The easiest way to stop is to hold your breath—you held your breath.”

Andrés blushes and smiles. It’s a soft smile, and he so rarely smiles it’s a grand accomplishment.

After a minute with warm eyes and a soft smile, Andrés slides one hand up my back and into my hair, and he pulls me back in. I’m caught a bit off-guard since it’s not what I expected him to do, but he doesn’t let me go. I relax after a second and tighten my grip on him, closing my eyes in the fullest confidence he won’t do anything to hurt me.

His lips track down the side of my neck down just under my shirt collar, the hand left on my back slides down to my hips, and to my surprise he proves the more openly sexual one between us. You’d never suspect it talking to him or looking at him, but he’s the one whose lips and hands search for reactions as if he knows what he’s doing. I don’t know if he’s a virgin, and this makes me doubt that he is. I am, and I’ve never been like this. This is all new to me.

My body easily caves to his will, uttering soft moans and relaxing into his hands. I’ve never been okay with this kind of thing before, but when it’s him it doesn’t really bother me.

Andrés pulls away after a couple minutes. I’m already a little breathless, and I’m probably blushing if the smirk on his lips is anything to go by.

“You’re new to this, aren’t you?” he asks.

I shrug and look away. He laughs. “You’re the one who opened the door.”

“I’m not complaining,” I point out. “Just a little surprised. I was just trying to help, I didn’t expect you to—”

“Be okay with sex?” he finishes.

I giggle at the word. It’s funny to hear him say it with a totally straight face. “I wasn’t going to use  _ that _ word, but yeah. You don’t seem like a very sexual person or whatever.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know what gave you that impression. Quiet doesn’t dictate innocence.”

“Well, that much I’m aware of. I never said you seemed innocent.”

Andrés laughs. I wrap my arms up around his back near his shoulders, curling up against him. “Maybe it’s a bad idea—a  _ really _ bad idea—but I trust you. You wouldn’t knowingly hurt me.”

He chuckles. “You don’t know any of my kinks, buddy. I could be a sadist or a masochist, or into bondage or some other form of physical abuse. You don’t know.”

I shrug casually.  _ That’s a little weird. _ “I’m apparently the innocent one here—I don’t even know mine, or if I have any. But I don’t really care. I trust you.”

He laughs again, and this laugh is a bit on the creepy side. “Eh, your loss.”

“You weren’t trying to, I’m gonna guess, but you already won me over.”

I put one finger over his heart, which is beating fast enough to betray his banter for what it is. “Somewhere in here, you own me and all the love that doesn’t belong to my brothers. You own me; you don’t scare me.”

He smirks, but his heart picks up speed even as I move my finger from it. “Owner is a kink, too.”

I make a slight sound of frustration. “So? I don’t care. Just shut up and kiss me.”

I pull him back in. He melts against me, and his hands wrap around me so tightly I couldn’t pull away even if I wanted to. Maybe he does have a bit of a dominant kink or something, a teasing one maybe, but he isn’t abusive. He knows I’m innocent and fragile, and he’s gentle and understanding despite the demanding,  _ hold-on-so-tightly-I-can’t-pull-away _ way he is.

He eventually pulls back to breathe. He gets to his feet now and pulls me inside, sneaking past his dad and some old man passed out on the couch. He pulls me into his room and shuts the door, and his noise level rises again. “My room’s soundproof,” he tells me.

He pulls the curtains shut over the blinds, locks the door, then pulls me over to the bed. His jacket slips over his head, revealing him to be much more muscular than I ever would’ve guessed looking at him around school. His shirt slips off, too, then he reaches over and slides my jacket off. I didn’t expect kissing to help calm him down would turn into this, but I suppose after trying for over two years now to win him over it’s a good thing because it means I won.

Scars criss-cross his forearms and his back. I’m not sure what caused them, but I only get a moment to see them and think about it before my shirt slips over my head and blinds my eyes.

He drops the shirts and jackets on the floor, then lifts me up onto the bed. The blankets float down over us, and his fingers slide my jeans off effortlessly. I manage after a second’s fumbling to return the favor. He kicks the jeans to the floor too and now his lips find mine again. It takes a minute for his lips to move from mine and press their path down my neck, searching for twitches and moans. He persists until he finds a spot, then proceeds to stick to that spot and lick and nip until the skin starts to bruise. He keeps up the pattern for awhile, I can’t keep track of how long. But it’s after that his fingers slip down to my hips and slide my boxers off, and he kicks his own off as well. It’s also after that he gets a little physically rough, but not to the point it bothers me. The moment I make any sounds of protest he backs off, which only reinforces my trust in him. He also doesn’t comment on the fact that I’m trans, or laugh at any sounds I make. He’s patient, sweet, and perfect.

I don’t know how long passes. I don’t know how long he’s touching me. I only get any semblance of time when he tires out and curls up next to me, and even then he still wraps both arms around me and returns his lips to mine for awhile, only pulling back to breathe.

I get a full semblance of time when his dad knocks on the door. “Dinner, Andrés!”

Andrés grumbles and looks up. “What time is it?”

“Seven,” his dad answers.

He grumbles again. “Gimme a minute.”

His dad moves away from the door. I breathe in slowly and peek an eye at him.

“Hungry?” he asks.

I shrug. “I haven’t eaten anything today. I had a bad feeling this morning so I didn’t eat.”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. I shrug. “When I get really bad feelings I don’t eat.”

“You need food,” he protests.

I shrug again. He sighs and gestures. “It might not work out great, but you could eat with us. Dad’s pretty flexible—it’s just Grandpa Ludwig you’d have to look out for. He’s visiting Dad but he hates me and he’s homophobic and transphobic. He’ll probably make some terrible comments.”

“Most of my family would do the same,” I shrug. “It doesn’t bother me.”

He pauses. “By the way. I didn’t know you’re…”

“It didn’t need to be said.” I look away. “A lot of people think I’m broken when they hear.”

“You’re not broken.”

“You say that now.”

He grumbles a bit, and we get up and dressed while we think.

I look up. “You never you were covered in scars either.”

It’s a good point. He clears his throat. “Family.”

“Shitty family,” I supply.

He shrugs it off, then nods. “You could say that.”

Now that we’re both dressed, I reach out and pull him around to look at me. “Hey.”

He stiffens a little. This is a serious topic, and he can already tell it is. “What?”

“If you’re going to—” I clear my throat. “Are we dating?”

Andrés looks surprised and blinks a few times, but his shoulders relax. “Oh. Um.”

He blinks another few times. “Uh, do you want to?”

I breathe and force the words out: “If you’re going to have sex with me,  _ especially _ more than once, yeah. It’d be weird not to.”

He laughs when I sort of choke on the word ‘ _ sex _ ’. “Alright, then. Sure. You wanna go out to eat and watch a movie or something? Start from the beginning?”

“That’s  _ really _ cliché, but sure. We’ve gotta start somewhere.”

He shrugs. “Okay.”

We slip from the room. The old man who was sleeping now is up and at the table, and Andrés’ dad comes over to us. “Hey. Is your friend staying for dinner?”

I look to Andrés. He coughs and corrects quietly, “Boyfriend, Dad. We’re dating.”

His dad laughs. “Good for you. Is your boyfriend staying for dinner?”

The old man looks up and around. Andrés goes scarlet and mutters for his dad to “lower your voice” because old man is listening.

Andrés’ dad chuckles. “Question remains.”

I look to the old man. He already has a death glare ready for me, but it doesn’t affect me; it’s nowhere near as bad as my own grandfather Alessio. Then I look to Andrés, weighing the options. I mean, my brothers will question if I’m not home, but…boyfriend, or brothers?

_ Fuck it, _ I decide. I shrug. “I mean, I haven’t eaten anything all day, but…sure.”

Andrés flinches and gives me a wide-eyed look. I shrug at him. His dad chuckles. “Alright.”

He moves into the kitchen and sets another seat at the table. I take the opportunity to turn to Andrés and explain. “My own grandfather is worse than him. Trust me: he doesn’t scare me. Besides, it’s not like he’ll actually hurt me—not with you in the room.”

He blushes and smiles. I pull out my phone and send a text to Sebastiano. “ _ Staying out for dinner. Friend’s house. You haven’t met him; I’ll introduce you later. We need to talk about Luciano anyway. Love you. ~Flavio _ ”

I hit send, fire off a similar message to Luciano, then pocket my phone. “That, too,” Andrés says. “Overprotective brothers.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry about them. I won’t let them hurt you.”

He chuckles. We move into the dining room and sit down.

“Who’re you?” demands the old man.

I flash a sweet smile at him. “Flavio Vargas. Andrés is my friend. And you are?”

His eyes narrow. “Ludwig Beilschmidt. Andrés is my grandson.”

“Great,” I say sarcastically. “One of the assholes that fucked him up. Just what we needed.”

Andrés chokes and starts giggling. Andrés’ dad even laughs. I smirk and raise an eyebrow at the spluttering old man. “What? Haven’t you got a sense of humor?”

We dig in to the baked potatoes and the biscuits and white sausage gravy. The spluttering old man takes all of the meal to regain his composure and to eat, and it means he doesn’t have the composure to glare or make nasty comments until we get up and deposit our dishes in the dishwasher.

The old man grabs my arm and spins me around. “You don’t know anything about me,” he says angrily, shaking me a little.

I give him a blank look, then shrug. “I don’t need to. I already know how fucked up Andrés is, and I know he never complains about his dad being a dick. That leaves only one person in this household to have fucked him up the way he is: you. That’s all I need to know. My family’s shit too. I’m from Italy: Rome, Italy, actually. I’m here because of shitty family. My brothers are the only family I have left.”

“Because you’re a worthless piece of shit, obviously,” the old man says.

In the moment’s silence, Andrés stiffens and goes to respond, and even his dad whirls around. “Dad,” Andrés’ dad says, “don’t.”

“It’s fine,” I dismiss even though it actually does hurt. “Everyone calls me that nowadays. I’m used to it. I’ve heard it so many times it doesn’t bother me anymore.”

It’s a downright lie that it doesn’t get to me, but like hell I’ll let asshole old man know he hurt me. Instead, I just puff myself up and glare at him. “Besides, you’re self-projecting. You see yourself as a worthless piece of shit, so you’re projecting it onto me. If you ask my brothers or Andrés, you’d find I’m not the worthless one.”

I pull my arm free and move away. The old man is trembling like a ticking time bomb. I have probably a minute to get out.

I take Andrés’ hand and sweep from the room. I manage to breathe the pain away, then look to Andrés.

Andrés blinks at me a few times. “I saw your eyes, Flavee,” he says. “You can’t convince me that didn’t hurt at all.”

I shrug. “Like hell I’ll let on to him that he won in the slightest. I’ve dealt with assholes like him. He doesn’t get the satisfaction of making a dent in my shell.”

I breathe. “We should probably run. Right?”

He nods. I lead the way out the door and take off in time for crazy old man to turn, bellow, and come barrelling after us.

Andrés glances back and picks up the pace. He scoops me off my feet, leaps a fence, leaps another fence, and now we’re on my street. He’s been to my house a few times, but Sebastiano is always at work when he’s over. He’ll be here this time.

Angry grandpa wheels around the corner. Andrés bought himself a minute, and that’s all we need. We reach the door, and he slips inside and shuts it. Then he sets me down and nearly collapses. I manage to catch him and drag him upright. “Seb!”

Sebastiano pops from the hall. I jerk my head at the door in time for grandpa to barrel into it and bounce off, rattling the frame. “Crazy old grandpa,” I tell him. I know it’ll work; all he needs is the truth. “He called me a worthless piece of shit.”

That’s all it takes: Sebastiano is up and out the door. He’s overprotective, and this is one of the times it comes in handy. I take Andrés’ hand and lead him deeper into the house.

Luciano slips from his room. Lutz is a step behind him, which tells me either Luciano got the door or somehow they got past Sebastiano.

“Hey, Lucca,” I greet him. I stop a couple steps away.

Luciano looks me over a few times and relaxes a little. “What’s going on?”

I jerk my head at Andrés. “Andrés and I are dating. Also his crazy old grandpa hates me.”

“He hates everyone,” Andrés mutters.

“He called me a worthless piece of shit,” I shrug. Luciano’s eyes widen. “Hence where Sebastiano ran off to.”

I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, towards the door. Luciano glances that way.

Andrés holds out his hand. He’s never formally met either Lutz or Luciano. “Andrés Milano.”

“Oh, uh, Luciano Vargas,” my brother stammers, and he briefly shakes Andrés’ hand.

“Lutz Beilschmidt,” my brother’s friend says, and he too shakes Andrés’ hand. “So you’re Gilen’s quiet Spanish friend?”

Andrés laughs, but it’s tense. “Sí.”

Luciano takes advantage of Andrés’ distraction to step around him and hug me. I automatically hug him back, and I take the opportunity to tell him quietly that Lutz also knows Hayden, because Gilen told Andrés’ cop father about Hayden abusing Lutz until Gilen beat the shit out of him a couple months ago. Luciano tightens his grip, so I know he heard and cares.

Sebastiano returns with a smug look. “He won’t be bothering you again.”

Luciano lets go and side-steps to glance Seb over, but he doesn’t look up enough to be seen. Seb shuts the door, and I wave him over. Now’s my chance to tell him about Hayden, before I lose the willpower to explain what Hayden does.

Seb wanders over. I reach out before he can back down and catch Luciano, and I tip his head up. He’s still covered in bruises, and some of them are new. There’s also some blood that’s clearly new since Lutz cleared all of it off his face at school.

Sebastiano’s eyes widen, and he reaches out to wipe the new blood from his face. “What the hell? What happened to you, fratellino?”

Luciano flinches and struggles half-heartedly to pull away. Sebastiano draws him in and hugs him, then looks to me. “What happened? Did you know about this?”

I breathe. “His name’s Hayden Fisher. I just found out today, when Lutz got him to look up.”

Luciano starts crying again, and his arms wrap very lightly around our brother. Lutz shifts uneasily and reaches out, but he isn’t stupid enough to pull him away from Sebastiano. He waits for our brother to let go, then pulls him in and snuggles him.

I pull Andrés over. “Also. Fratello maggiore— _ and you’re not allowed to kill him _ —this is my boyfriend Andrés. He’s been over a few times, but you weren’t home. I ate at his house.”

Sebastiano raises a skeptical eyebrow. Andrés offers a hand and a glimpse of a sweet smile. “Andrés Milano. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

Sebastiano lets him shake his hand. He’s tense and he looks him over a few times. I’ve dated a few people, but it’s never ended well. He expects no less of Andrés—but none of them kissed me or got me in bed day one. I wasn’t comfortable with them. I am with Andrés.

My brother gathers his best manners from the darkest caverns of his broken spirit and forms a weak smile. “Sebastiano. You hurt him I kill you. I’ve done it before and I won’t hesitate to do it again.”

Andrés looks uncertainly to me. I shrug at him and tell him quietly, “He hasn’t actually killed anyone. But he  _ will  _ find ways to make you cry. He’s done that before.”

Andrés looks back to him. “Good luck with that. I’ve been told I’m an emotionless asshole. The only way you could actually hurt me would be to hurt him.”

Andrés gestures to me. Sebastiano glares. “Oh, believe me, I’ll find ways.”

Andrés looks to me. “Should I go?”

I shrug. “Not a bad idea. We need to talk about Lucca.”

He nods, hugs me, and slides from the house. I turn back to my older brother. “Anyway. Let me explain what’s going on, before I lose the willpower to do so.”


End file.
